


then we grew a little

by satellites (brella)



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brella/pseuds/satellites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory road trip episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	then we grew a little

**Author's Note:**

> Posted [here](http://lesoleilluna.livejournal.com/51365.html?thread=377509#t377509) for lesoileilluna's _Community_ ficathon. There is very little dialogue, which is kind of a big deal for me!

They’ll never know how they all manage to fit into Britta’s brand new used Volkswagen bus (and trust them, Jeff spends  _plenty_  of time poking fun at  _that_  whole paradox), and Shirley will personally never know why none of them saw the pragmatism of taking her minivan, and Pierce would like to point out that he’ll never  _ever_  know how he got stuck being accidentally strapped to the roof for the first couple of miles before Abed had the decency to notice that it sounded like someone was screaming because they were strapped to the roof of the car.   
  
The point is, they’ve all been finagled into going to some protest that Britta’s all whipped on, to save the redwoods or the everglades or some manatees, but it’s not in Colorado and anything not in Colorado equals road trip. It’s actually in California, apparently, which isn’t  _that_  far, but since Abed and Troy want to stop at every single landmark that isn’t directly related to the thriving metropolis of Greendale, and since Jeff will only stay in posh hotels that they all need to drop him off at before they go to their own affordable (again, Shirley says,  _pragmatic_ ) motels, it’s going to take a good few days.   
  
They plot out their route from Denver to Los Angeles – accommodating maybe only two or three stops that eventually, on the road, turn to dozens – and they have to incorporate a detour to the Grand Canyon because Troy wants to not cry at it; Shirley packs all of the food and Pierce packs a bunch of books of dirty knock-knock jokes that Jeff secretly burns at four in the morning before they leave; Abed and Troy would probably have spent weeks agonizing over what to pack if Annie hadn’t been there to help them, Britta just brings two t-shirts and a single pair of jeans but about ten pairs too many of underwear, and Jeff prays that he’ll at least be able to bring along his sanity.   
  
They somehow wind up passing a day in Cripple Creek, roaming the Historic District (although Britta spends literally the entire time trying to find parking while everyone else walks around), and Annie buys a bunch of antique jewelry and an ancient, moth-eaten mink stole that offends Britta for a good six hours, and Jeff makes a bunch of notes on his iPhone about wanting to throw himself in front of a train.   
  
Mesa Verde is orange and gold when they get there, thick rich colors against a steadfastly blue summer sky. Abed searches for buried treasure and finds none, but he does dig up a smooth pink agate that he puts in Annie’s open hands, and he smiles proudly when she reacts favorably, her cheeks flushing and her eyes shimmering with wonder. Troy has to look in every hole, every window, every doorway, searching for ghosts, and even Jeff has to admit, when the sun starts going down, that “This all feels very Scooby-Doo,” so they pile back into the bus, drive away, realize they forgot Pierce, drive back, and stop at A&W for root beer floats.   
  
They go through Vegas at night to see the lights bursting and burning in the darkness, a wide array of colors and promises and false opulence, and Abed and Troy play a game in which whoever points out the most red wins a Twizzler. Jeff takes the driving shift, his reflective aviators glinting over his forced apathetic expression, but Annie starts babbling excitedly about how they should reenact  _The Hangover_  and he has to let loose a smile. Abed agrees far too readily, though, so they have to floor it out of there before he gets any legitimate ideas.

They continue along Highway 15 until they find a nice Super 8 motel (and they drop Jeff off at his pre-reserved Ritz-Carlton) and crawl exhaustedly into their rooms. Britta sleeps in the van so Shirley and Annie can bunk together and so no one will have to share a room with Pierce.

When they take off the next morning, Jeff buys them all waffles at the Ritz’s lobby restaurant and Shirley takes over on driving, bubbling over with excitement at the fact that she gets to control the radio stations and can therefore blare the religious ones to her heart’s content. (Jeff tries to jump out of the bus on the freeway, but Annie and Britta grab him by the leather jacket and haul him back in despite his over-the-top wails of agony.)

The Grand Canyon really is beautiful, though. They get there at sunrise, because Annie would have accepted no other time, and Troy doesn’t cry  _a lot_ , his knees buckling so that Britta has to hold him up while he aggressively doesn’t weep onto her Radiohead sweatshirt. They all take a photo – they manage to ask a couple of Spanish tourists to do it for them, and they realize that maybe Chang didn’t screw them over that much at all – and everyone makes rabbit ears behind Jeff’s head, literally everyone, including some random dude who’d just happened to be behind them for the picture. (It’s still on all of their fridges in ten years, next to the math tests of their children and the quaint cake-themed magnets Annie found at a rummage sale and Abed’s acceptance letter to AFI.)   
  
California is sunny and bold and the sky is Britta’s favorite color of blue, and they go to drop Jeff off at the Hyatt but he doesn’t get out of the car and mutters something about saving money and they all cheer, and he rooms with Pierce at the Motel 6, and Britta and Annie are pretty sure that they hear an agonized sound like an animal dying at about two in the morning when Pierce reportedly knocks over Jeff’s almond facial scrub on his way to the bathroom.   
  
Britta’s protest is huge, and hot, and they all get sunburned (except for Britta herself, whose immaculate swab of sunscreen on her nose and only her nose seems to do her some kind of favors, because she returns to Greendale freckled and grinning). They hold signs and shout things and buy giant pretzels, and Britta teaches Annie how to braid flowers into her hair (and she tries to teach Shirley, but Shirley writes it off as Pagan and bustles away to search for a working toilet).

The protest dwindles and bleeds into some kind of unexpectedly awesome beach concert, and Pierce reveals that he was able to bring along six picnic blankets (for no apparent reason, but they won’t complain), so they all trek four blocks down to the ocean and spread them out and get sand in their eyes and dried kelp between their toes, and the stars burn bright even through the smoke from the bonfires, and Troy keeps setting his marshmallows on fire just to watch what happens.

Britta glows with pride because she’s finally done something, finally gotten off her ass and gone somewhere; Jeff smiles at her with weary fondness and squeezes Annie’s hand, and Annie shifts over to sit between “her boys,” Abed and Troy, who smile and let her splay out in their laps; Shirley crosses herself multiple times when people start skinny dipping and  _everyone_  crosses themselves when Pierce decides to join in, and the music beats out against the night sky and Greendale seems so far away now, now that they’re a whole week older.   
  
The road and the sky and the world whizzes by when they drive home, listening to some acoustic album Britta had bought at an indie music store next to the gas station. Annie saves the flowers, presses them between the pages of her poetry books, and Abed counts the disposable cameras he’s gone through – there are eighteen. Summer starts behind them. Greendale hasn’t changed.


End file.
